What remained of the staircase, shattered stone and broken steps, turned left and then right at tight angles with gaps in the walls and floor. Treacherous and abrupt. Milo stepped back a few paces and then raced forward, leaping over the hole and slamming his shoulder against the wall. He winced and grabbed his arm. Of all the bad luck, it was his dominant side. The clang of metal and hurried footsteps filled the corridor as he sucked in one sharp breath after another, trying to catch his breath. It was no use. Nothing was slowing the spin of chaos in his head.

  He had to focus on something else; put himself far from the fighting, the noise, the calamity of combat. He hissed through his teeth and stared up at the ceiling. There was somewhere else he could go. There was a diner on a hot summer evening when crickets first came out and the sun was setting behind the trees when the heat of the day was melting every popsicle and ice cream he’d had to keep cool. Colorful twinkling Christmas lights never meant to blink the way they did, stuck to the walls were the most beautiful sight after sweating in the fields from training. And Michael sat in a booth staring at the menu, alone but content, contemplating if he’d rather have seasoned fries or plain for dipping in his milkshake. And he’d look up with his bright eyes, the same emerald as their father, and smile as if he’d not seen Milo in years.

  Michael. He was the reason to push on. If he didn’t get moving, he couldn’t protect him. Milo shoved off the wall, his arm stinging as he hurried up the next flight and tried to keep his faith in Lukas. He wasn’t the fastest runner, but he was observant and his reaction time was better than anyone else. He could avoid the Razen and dodge the soldiers coming in as backup. Cavalry? No. They weren’t coming as anything. It was everyone against everyone. The whole thing was a disorganized mess. Makler was a king among men, but his strategy for fighting depended heavily on directed brute force. A solid punch to the center line wasn’t enough. But sharp jabs to the sides worked wonders. The flanks would collapse in no time and they’d funnel the rest into a nice kill zone.

  Or at least that was the plan on paper. As Milo skidded around the next corner, blasts rocking the watchtower, he knew that’s all it was: good on paper. Makler was a scholar hidden behind the hard lines of war paint and a personal vendetta, a wedding band for a tombstone of what he’d lost. Love, a life, and a chance to have made himself more useful. Milo stopped at the door. It was still shut. On the other side were the archers. Kelsey. And if the door had yet to be breached, she was safe. He checked over his shoulder and grabbed the handle. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what he was doing. He couldn’t prioritize his own interests over the fate of everyone he was supposed to be leading. Never mind, the archers were as much his as the men on the ground. He shoved the door open.

  Heads turned, checking with wide eyes to make sure it wasn’t an enemy. Milo puffed his chest and marched down the hall as though his arm didn’t hurt and he had the situation under control. “Aim for the second and third lines. The infantry will handle the Viper Corps and the first line. Watch the left flank. They’re coming over flat land and don’t have the same force as the right. We can cut them off with the fire arrows.”

  “Sir, the walls are thinning,” an officer stated, drawing back an arrow.

  “Stay as long as possible, head south, and make a corridor for the first line to funnel.”

  “Bottleneck them? Sir, how—”

  “Lead them in.” Milo turned and looked at the officer, hoping he could understand. But, instead, found the same confused horror swimming in his eyes as had been in Milo’s stomach since the wall cracked and the Wyrm beast had broken through. Where it’d disappeared to was a mystery and far from his concern. They couldn’t fight what they couldn’t find. Surviving, and taking down as many Razen as they could, was all they had left.

  “Yes, sir.” The officer gave a sharp nod and called the order down the line.

  Milo continued on his way, keeping stiff and his jaw locked tight to stave off the piercing pain. He’d hit his shoulder harder than he’d realized. Breathing hurt. As he came to the end of the row, to the door on the opposite side, he stopped and grabbed the post, steadying himself.

  “Kelsey,” he rasped.

  “Sir,” she spun on her toes and her shoulders dropped, lowering her bow. “Milo!”

  “You have to get out of here.”

  “What happened to your arm?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “You’re a terrible liar. The least you can do is look me in the eye when you feed me a line of it. Honestly,” she grabbed hold of him, slipping under his arm, and hauled him toward the door, “if you just believe something true enough, not even wholly, it’s harder for people to know if you’re lying or not. And in a way, you’re not lying at all. You’re telling the truth selectively, with creative detailing.”

  “Now’s not the time for this,” he groaned and they made their way down the external stairs leading back into town. “If we don’t get out of here, we’re dead.”

  Kelsey stopped and looked up at him. “And if we leave everyone, they’re dead.”

  “I know,” Milo winced, shifting his weight to look back. The shouts and hollers of soldiers were closer. “I can’t save everyone…”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “It would be one hell of a miracle if you could, wouldn’t it?”

  Milo whipped around, his eyebrows furrowing. His mouth dangled open, both offended and confused by what she meant, and gabbed as he looked for words.

  “Get over it.” She rolled her eyes and led him toward a boarded-up building. “You think everyone with an ability can use it? I’ve heard stories about healers who couldn’t fix more than a paper cut until they met with a proper whisperer. We’ve never been lucky enough to have one of any worth here. How could you possibly expect to—”

  Milo sat down against the wall, “Makler doesn’t know.”

  “What?”

  “I never told him.”

  “Milo…”

  “It’s better if he doesn’t. What’s the point if I can’t use it for anything that matters?”

  “He could have helped you.”

  “It’s fine,” he ducked as an arrow zipped by. “And to be honest, I don’t think he could have. Kelsey,” Milo grabbed her arm and pulled her down beside him. For a long, breathless moment, he stared at her, marveling at the sun reflecting in her dark amber eyes. And the way her skin glowed and her hair was messy and tangled; perfect in its imperfection. The dots of freckles on her face were a constellation, he knew in the heavy thump of his sinking heart, he would never have a chance to map out. His gaze lowered and his hands trembled with a fear he didn’t recognize. “Makler knew this was going to happen. He’s never saved a town before.”

  “What?” she gaped, searching Milo’s face for more of an explanation. “No, he’s-he’s-he’s…”

  “We can’t win here, not today.” His face hardened as he looked back at the raging battle behind them. Too many would die. And Bethany would fall. “We just have to get out.” He turned back to her, taking her hands. “You have to get out. Lukas went for Michael. He’s taking him to the southern wall. Go find them. And I’ll find you. I’ll be right behind you.”

  She nodded, frantic as she tried to catch her breath. All the hell and fighting around them was inescapable from the start. Kelsey gulped down hard and grabbed Milo’s shoulder. “Here, let me fix this. You can’t cover me with a bum shoulder.”

  Milo shut his eyes, grinding his teeth as her hands smoothed over his arm and up to his neck. It wasn’t a painful feeling, but it wasn’t pleasant either. It was like a thousand cold needles pricking over his skin and, before the groan building in his throat could escape, it was over. Kelsey jumped to her feet and readied her bow. Sure, she’d run, but she wouldn’t go without a fight either. Skirting around the backside of the building, she was on her way down the road before Milo could thank her for healing him.

  It was better if he put her out of his mind, trusting her speed and ability as an archer. She’d make it. She’d survive, and he’d find her again later. There wasn’t time to dwell on what could happen when there was so much happening. He took his sword, checked its weight, and headed into the throngs of soldiers killing friends and foes alike. It was beautiful and terrible. Everywhere he looked, people were twisting and turning and reaching and grabbing like glorious paintings he’d seen in old books. The red of their blood was like roses bursting in the air, and the smell of iron filled his nose and pooled in his mouth. And all his body turned alight, a flame in the cold dark.

  Ahead of him, horses charged in, the riders donning their gold masks. One, a shorter man with messy hair, jumped down and threw his hands against anyone he found. In a bright flash of light, their breath left them and they fell to the ground. Their bodies contorted, dead in a way Milo wished he hadn’t seen. Soon behind the man, a woman with thick braids dropped down. She laughed as she swung her blade and grabbed her enemies by the arms, dragging them in and head-butting them to the ground. She paused only when the smaller man gave her a sharp whistle. Her attention turned to the bloody mess of dead around her feet, and she held out her hands at them. One by one, they untwisted and rose like puppets. They marched forward, swinging madly and barely in control of themselves.

  There was no fighting them. They were dead, meat shields at most. Milo dodged around them, sliding on the side of his foot and spinning around with his sword out as he cut through the crowd. He was the leader. He had to get to the next tower and give the orders to retreat. And with every spray of blood across his face, staining his hair and clothes alike, he fought his way closer. He couldn’t save them all, but he could save more than Makler would. He could be the leader they needed.

  As he barreled over the broken stones of the wall, he skidded to a stop. Lukas slid down the side of the hill, unscathed but sweating like a pig. He ran to Milo, grabbed his arms, and shouted over the noise, “He’s out! I got him out! But they’re coming down the outer walls. They’re surrounding us. If we don’t go now, we’ll never—”

  His words fell short in a sharp gasp. Milo stumbled back, his weight heavier than he’d ever expected, as Lukas fell forward. His back bled down his pants and he gasped, quivering, and his fingers curled into Milo’s shirt. Faltering another step back, he brought him to the ground as carefully as possible. Shaking his hands, he cursed to himself. Of all the times he could use a miracle, it was right now. But no, there was no miracle to be had.

  “Lukas, stay with me,” he breathed, searching wildly for anything he could use to stop the bleeding, “just stay with me.”

  “I can’t,” he whimpered, “please, Milo, you promised…”

  “No, no, no,” Milo turned on his knees, “I can’t!”

  “Please, don’t let them take me,” tears ran down his cheek and off his nose. “I don’t want to become a Razen. I don’t want to…” he cried, gripping the ground, unable to lift up.

  Milo turned away and shut his eyes tight, refusing, and yet his hands heated in a too-familiar way. The glow spread from his fingertips to his elbows and flooded over him. It’d never been this strong before. And when he turned back to Lukas, he mouthed a thin apology. There was no time to save him, and they wouldn’t escape together.

  A long narrow sword formed from the light, as if from nothing. Milo choked on a cry he wouldn’t let Lukas see and ran the blade clean through his back like a hot knife through soft butter. He didn’t gasp or cough, he simply stopped. Lukas was still. Milo fell to his knees beside him and the tears ran freely in thick rivers as he curled into a ball, his forehead to the ground. What had he done?

  “Grab the kid!” someone shouted.

  Milo’s eyes popped wide and all his tears dried in an instant. Before he could think twice about who they meant, he was on his feet and the blade he’d brought was tight in his glowing gold grip. In his ears rang a song he’d heard too many times in his dreams, and whispered to him when he least expected it. It was a voice he’d carried with him since the day he was born, and it hadn’t ever called to him the way it did now. It screamed and cried out and he knew he could do it. One hell of a miracle, that’s all he needed.